target moments

yesterday i wandered around target in a daze, a 27-year-old with dementia. what am i here for? where is it? what can i get that will make my best friend's apartment feel like home, my home.

then i realized that was my problem, looking for home in the middle of a linoleum aisle and red bullseyes. it just wasn't going to happen.

while i was debating between going back to the apartment or sitting on the floor of the store, i rounded the corner to find what i needed. then i got my shit together and actually finished my errand.

so there are moments. target moments. safeway moments. moments in parking lots, shopping, around people, asking for clear polyurethane satin gloss at lowe's... you get the picture. there are moments where i don't quite loose it but i don't quite have it together--where i need to take a time out, press the pause button.

they're mostly at night now, while i'm cleaning or organizing, trying to get things to just work dammit, putting together shelves or figuring out where my missing gym shorts are.

sometimes they're good but painfully sad. like when i realized i just fuckin' moved my ass 14 hours away with all my stuff, packed it, unloaded it, and survived. it's a lonely sort of accomplishment, one i want to share with him. tell him i can make it. i am making it. i'm good and whole and capable, but i can't tell him or, rather, i won't because that wouldn't be helpful and my blackberry was quite dead.

and that's one of the hardest parts about all of this...leaving someone who wasn't just my husband but my friend. so, to those of you who are emailing and calling and being there even when i don't reply. thanks. those moments are making all the other ones a bit more bearable.